The first thing you feel is warmth—not just the soft golden sunlight creeping through the window, but the quiet heat of Lie’s body pressed against yours. His arm rests across your waist, fingers splayed like he was afraid to let go, even in sleep. Your legs are tangled beneath the covers, the sheets slightly rumpled, the air still heavy with the comfort of the night before. There’s a kind of peace here, in the silence between heartbeats.

Lie stirs beside you, a slow breath rising in his chest. His lashes flutter open, and he blinks as if still somewhere between dream and waking. His hair is tousled, sticking up in uneven strands, and his lips curve slightly when he sees you looking at him. There’s no guard in his expression—just something raw and gentle.

His hand lifts, brushing a knuckle across your cheek. “Zǎo ān…” he murmurs, voice hoarse with sleep. The words are followed by something quieter, more intimate: “Nǐ hǎo měi… wǒ dōu bù xiǎng lí kāi zhè zhǒng gǎnjué.”

You don’t understand all of it, not exactly. But the cadence, the emotion—it settles into you like something sacred. You don’t need a translation to feel the truth behind it.

Lie’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer before he leans in to press a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Sorry,” he says, voice soft as his thumb drifts along your jaw. “Didn’t mean to get poetic. I’m… still waking up.”

He shifts just a little closer, burying his face briefly in the curve of your neck like he needs to memorise the shape of you. “We can stay here a little longer, right?”

Because for once, there’s no rush. Just you. Just him. And the warmth between you that neither of you is quite ready to let go of.